


Just A Sunday

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 40: Dance.  Dean and Sam finally get some alone time together....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Jim and Dad are out for the evening, leaving the two boys alone in the house. Sam’s supposed to be taking it easy, and Dean’s supposed to be tired. Only, Sam keeps sneaking looks at Dean, looks that Dean’s reluctant to classify as well, hungry, because there’s not enough energy behind them for that. Dean, of course, isn’t paying quite as much attention to the hotrod magazine as he might be. He’s still amused that Pastor Jim, man of the cloth, of research and of learning, has a thing for classic cars. A little distraction is in order, so he reaches over and flicks on the radio, deciding that the classic rock station it’s tuned to is tolerable.

Sam muffles a groan and turns his back.

“Dude. Cope. Your headache is that bad, you go to bed.” Dean just about flinches when he hears himself, he has no idea why the hell he’s channeling their father tonight. Sam responds with a hurled notebook and a tongue stuck out, and Dean laughs, flips a few pages.

Sam’s still flashing those covert looks his way an hour later, though, and a frown is growing on Dean’s face. Of all the places they’re supposed to stay subtle about their relationship, Pastor Jim’s is at the top of the list, and Jim’s been clear about the fact that he wants another day or three with Sam before he’s satisfied. Their Dad’s backing the pastor up, wanting to run Dean through the training course another million times, much to Dean’s chagrin. Then again, he thinks, shifting in place, still feeling where John landed a couple of well placed swats, he might have done better not to mouth off on the first run.

“Sam. We can’t.”

“When the fuck did I say we should?” Sam’s cranky, turns over on the couch so his back is to his brother.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Fuck off, Dean.” His tone is sulky and dismissive, and Dean’s not going to stand for it, because if it continues when John walks back in the door, he’s gonna have to deal with the friction between his father and brother, and he is SO not in the mood to do it. He slides out of the easy chair and lands a hearty smack on Sam’s ass, surprised when Sam buries his head into the couch cushions. Okay, so it’s going to be one of those evenings. He’s poised to bring his hand down harder again this time, and something stops him. Instead, he finds himself sitting on the edge of the couch with his hand on Sam’s shoulder, gentle and firm all at the same time.

“What’s the matter.”

Sam’s reply is muffled. “That’s all I want.”

Dean laughs. “You want an ass beating, you can put yourself over my knee, because I’m too tired to put you there myself.”

A pair of aggravated green eyes glare at him, and Sam presses up against him as he turns. Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining that the tired frown eases as they come into contact. “Jerk. With Dad around, you think I need it from you, too?”

Dean chuckles, because though Sam’s tone is slightly crabby, there isn’t any censure behind the words. “You get me at night, buddy.” The younger man shrugs and Dean knows it was the wrong thing to say. They sit in silence, Dean feeling at least some of the tension drain from his brother as he maintains the contact between them. He leans over, places a chaste kiss on Sam’s temple. “I know.” Sam’s wry smile says he’ll accept the apology, and appreciates being understood – if there’s one thing that’ll create an argument in this family, it’s Sam feeling misunderstood, and Dean’s glad he thinks he’s got a handle on it this time. “Hey,” he says, tugging at Sam’s arm. “Know you’ve got a headache. Lemme give you a backrub.”

“You’re the one who needs it, not me.”

“I’m not stiff or sore, just tired.”

“Really?” There’s a hopeful look in the eyes hiding behind the mass of hair that’s flopped over them. Dean brushes it away from Sam’s face, wondering for the millionth time how Sam can stand it.

“Seriously. Come on, dude.”

“They’ll be back soon.”

“Dad said seven, that’s a half hour from now, and if they walk in on me giving you a backrub in the middle of the living room floor, I don’t think they’re going to say anything, dude. They both know about the headaches, dumbass.”

Sam takes a minute to think about it and finally nods. Dean gives the younger boy a hand up off the couch, noticing how Sam’s hand lingers in his, and then the radio DJ flips over from an old swing song to Etta James, singing A Sunday Kind of Love. He doesn’t think about it, just lets himself pull Sam in close, right arm around the boy’s waist, and twining his fingers into Sam’s left hand. He sways without effort to the old song, _And I’m on a lonely road that leads to no where, I need a Sunday kind of love._ Sam’s head ducks down, and their foreheads rest against one another as Dean leads him through the simple dance steps, holding him close. There’s no tension between the two of them, just relaxation, just the comfort of having one another close. Dean knows without thinking about it that neither of them will talk about it, just hold it close, the way they’re holding each other right now.

Etta winds down, her rich tones drawing out the word love, and Dean reluctantly stops moving, looking at Sam, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. Sam gives him a wry smile, and provides him with an out, stretching his neck slightly. Dean returns it, and guides the younger boy down to the floor.

And when lights flash in the driveway, Dean’s halfway done with the massage, working out some of the knots between Sam’s shoulder blades, the radio still tuned into some light jazz. The calm warmth of the dance still permeates the room, both boys relaxed, and for the first time in days, they both have genuine, honest smiles to greet their father.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Etta James - Sunday Kind Of Love


End file.
